Grow Together
by AnnLiberty
Summary: "Peeta and I grow back together. There are still moments when he clutches the back of a chair and hangs on until the flashbacks are over. I wake screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children. But his arms are there to comfort me. And eventually his lips." - My take on the "growing together" theme. Rights to the Hunger Games, it's characters & world belong to S. Collins.
1. Chapter 1

This is my take on the very popular "growing together" fanfic subject. It starts the morning after Peeta has come home to District 12, which is also the morning after Buttercup has reappeared.

"Katniss," Greasy Sae scolds me, "don't waste bacon on that mangy old cat."

I ignore her and keep feeding bits to Buttercup. If Prim were here, I would offer her everything I have. But she is gone, and all that is left of her is this ugly old cat, so I offer my bacon to him. Peeta, who arrived for breakfast with Greasy Sae, winks at me and slides a piece of his bacon onto my plate. I scowl at him and push it back. He looks hurt and doesn't try to give it to me again.

After breakfast, Peeta and Sae do the dishes while I wander out to the front porch. The sunlight is unfamiliar, almost overwhelming in its brightness. I sit in a wooden rocker and stare into space. Sitting here in the Victor's Village I can almost forget that District Twelve was completely destroyed. Apart from the now untended lawns, the empty Victor's mansions look the same as they always have. I know a few of the houses closer to town are occupied by people returning to Twelve and government and military people leading the recovery effort, but this last row of houses is occupied by just Haymitch, Peeta, and I.

I must be deep in thought or half asleep because next thing I know, Peeta is standing beside me. His tread was noisy when he had both legs, and it's ridiculously loud on his prosthetic, so it's a wonder I didn't hear him coming.

"Sae had to go," he says. "She'll be back around four."

I nod. I'm familiar with our schedule. Sae comes by twice a day, around 10am for breakfast and around 4pm for dinner. She cooks for me and forces me to eat. I eat when I can and try not to be completely rude, though some days I'm more affable than others.

"Will you be back?" I ask Peeta. They are the first words I have spoken out loud today, and Peeta visibly perks up at the sound of my weak and seldom-used voice.

"Yes," he replies, "if you'll let me. Sae will be feeding us both, and it would be easier for her if I came here rather than making her stop at my house too. Is that ok?"

I nod, but I do not speak again, or even make eye contact with Peeta. I don't know why he came back or how long he'll be here, but if it makes it easier for Sae, he can take his meals here. After a minute he sighs quietly and walks across the lawn to his house.

That afternoon, Peeta and Sae arrive together. He brings cookies for Greasy Sae's little Granddaughter, Savannah. Savannah is about five years old, and she lives in her own little world. I don't know what happened to her parents, Sae's son and his wife, but it's a pretty good guess that they died in the firebombing like everyone else. There are enough dead haunting my dreams, so I don't ask for details. Sae doesn't bring Savannah this time, probably afraid of what will happen when Peeta and I are in the same room again, but her face lights up at the unexpected and thoughtful treat.

"Real cookies," says Sae, almost reverently. She takes in a deep sniff of the treats. "I can't remember the last time I had a cookie."

Peeta smiles and promises many more to come.

"I brought you some cookies, too, Katniss," he says to me.

Everything tastes like ash, and I have no appetite, but I don't want to be rude, so I mumble my thanks.

When dinner is served, Greasy Sae informs us that she has to get back to Savannah, and Peeta assures her that we can handle the dinner dishes. She pats us both on the shoulder and leaves with her cookies.

"Katniss," begins Peeta, "how have you been?"

His attempt at small talk grates on my nerves. I scowl at him, refusing to answer.

"Right," he says to himself, "dumb question."

I nod at him and walk to the trash with my bowl of stew. It's still half full, but I have no appetite and Sae isn't here to force me to eat.

Peeta tries again. "Would you like to wash the dishes, or dry?"

I shrug my shoulders, gathering things from the table and carrying them to the sink. Peeta sighs and carries his dishes to the sink. He washes and I dry. The only sound is the splash of water and the gentle clinking of dishes. I feel my shoulders begin to relax as we work side-by-side in companionable silence.

When the dishes are done and the counters are wiped, Peeta turns to face me.

"Katniss, is there anything else you would like me to do?"

At first, I'm surprised by the question. My world consists of this kitchen and the little bathroom down the hall, with occasional visits to the living room and my bedroom upstairs. Greasy Sae has been keeping the house clean and keeping me fed. What else could I need? I shake my head and Peeta wishes me a good evening on his way out the door.

Once he is gone, I feel lonely. We didn't even talk, but I miss his company. I've been alone for a long time with just Sae, and occasionally Savannah, visiting for meals. I take up my spot in the old armchair by the kitchen fireplace. This is where I have spent most of my time in the days since I came back from the Capital. How long have a been here? A week or two? Longer?

I spend the night the way I have spent all my nights since I came back to Twelve – feeding small bits of bark and firewood to the kitchen fire. I could put a big log on the fire, but it isn't that cold tonight, and feeding the fire all night gives me something to do. I like to be beside the fire; it makes me feel safe, a guarantee against the darkness. I doze off now and then, but I won't allow myself to fall asleep deeply. I know I need to sleep, but if I don't sleep I can't dream, and I _cannot_ dream.

Eventually, my exhaustion wins and I fall asleep.

I dream of the mine again, the old dream I used to have after my father died. But this time it's not my father at the bottom of the shaft, it's Prim. I can hear her voice screaming for me to save her from deep down the mine shaft. An explosion rocks the ground, fire shoots out of the shaft, and I know that I am too late to save her. I am always too late to save her.

I wake with a start. The fire has died out, but thankfully the sun is coming up. It's so much worse to wake up from a nightmare when there is more night to get through. I make my way to the foyer closet and put on my boots and my father's hunting jacket. I gather the bow and arrows that Gale rescued, and begin to walk to the woods. I make a wide circle to avoid the meadow and its mass grave, and slip under the fence.

The lush green forest has an instant calming effect on me. It is cool in the shadow of its rich, green foliage. I hear small creatures scampering around and birds calling in the early morning light. My entire world was destroyed, but the woods, like the Victor's Village, remains the same. But unlike the Village, the woods are alive, fresh, and vibrant. For a few minutes I just stand and take it in, gulping deep breaths of the woodsy-scented air.

I know I won't hunt this morning. I don't know if I will ever be able to kill with a bow and arrow again. I decide instead to walk the line of snares that Gale set up years ago. I can set the ones that are in good shape and repair the ones that need work. Then in a few days I can come back and check them. I know Sae will appreciate some fresh game, and this way I won't have to do the killing with my own hands.

By the time I finish checking the lines, I am getting tired. I know the trek home will be slow, and I'm probably going to be late for breakfast with Sae and Peeta. I should have left a note. I take the shortest route I know back to the fence, and slip under it. I don't have the time or energy to go the long way around the meadow, so I take a deep breath to steady my nerves and begin walking toward the Victor's Village, averting my eyes from the huge hole slashed in the once-beautiful meadow.

On the far side of the meadow, someone is running toward me. _Peeta_. I wave so he knows I'm not in any trouble, but he runs to me anyway.

"Are you ok?" he asks, his breathing heavy and his face a mask of worry.

My first instinct is to snap at him that I don't need babysitting. But the truth is that I'm broken. I can't take care of myself. I can't hunt, and I rely on Sae to feed me and keep my house. My fire is gone. I probably do need babysitting.

I swallow my pride and reply, "Yeah, sorry, I don't have the energy I used to. It takes me longer than I remember to get home."

"We were worried about you," he adds, trying not to scold but failing.

"I know. And I'm sorry. I should have left a note."

"What were you doing? Hunting?"

"No," I reply with a sad sigh. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to take another life with my bow and arrows. I was resetting snare lines. I'll go back in a couple days to see if they caught anything."

His face is sympathetic. If anyone understands my new aversion to hunting, it's Peeta. I imagine how Gale would react to my statement, and for a minute I'm glad he's not here. I'm sure he would ridicule me and try to push me into changing my mind. But Peeta understands. He knows what it's like to be broken, to have your fire extinguished.

Silently, we make our way back to the Village, to a worried Greasy Sae and a cold breakfast.


	2. Chapter 2

The days pass, spring inching toward summer, and Peeta and I fall into a quiet routine. Every morning he comes to my house with Greasy Sae. We eat together and do the dishes after she leaves. Sometimes we sit on the porch and have another cup of tea, then he goes home. I walk the snare line every few days and bring home game for Sae. Peeta comes back with her in the afternoons, bringing baked treats for Savannah or breads for Sae to hand out around the District. We finish our dinner and wash the dishes. Every night Peeta asks me if there is anything I need, and when I decline, he says good night and returns to his home.

As I become more comfortable in his presence, I allow myself to talk more and more. Where I might have only shrugged or nodded at first, now I tell him about things I saw in the woods. He tells me about the things he bakes, and sometimes he asks me 'real or not real' questions.

"Real or not real," he asks one evening, "cheese buns are your favorite?"

"Real," I assure him emphatically.

The next morning there are warm cheese buns to go with our breakfast, and I am so excited that I hug him. He freezes, tense during the impulsive hug, but when I pull away he pats my shoulder and smiles.

Peeta is home for a week before I witness one of his episodes. We are doing the evening dishes when he drops a glass. It shatters on the floor, and I notice that he is tense, his knuckles white as they grip the edge of the kitchen counter.

"Leave!" he barks at me.

I back toward the door, but do not leave. I'm rooted in place, and I watch him carefully, hoping that he can shake off the episode before he steps on the broken glass. As I'm watching his face and tense upper body, I hear the heartbreaking crunch of a footstep on glass. I gasp and run for the first aid kit, but when I come back I'm surprised not to see any blood on the floor.

"Peeta?" I ask softly.

He lifts his head, and his eyes are soft, clear and blue. He's back.

"Did I… did I hurt you?" he asks, his voice anguished.

"No, Peeta, but I'm afraid you've hurt yourself stepping on the glass."

I slide a tall stool toward him, and Peeta raises himself onto it, out of the field of broken glass. I grab a broom and quickly sweep up the shards before grabbing the first aid kit and making my way to Peeta's feet. One of his socks is clean, but the other has shards of broken glass imbedded in it. Tears begin to roll down my cheeks as I prepare myself to see Peeta's injury. I carefully peel off the sock and laugh out loud when I reveal his prosthesis.

I must seem hysterical, laughing with tears streaming down my face. Peeta looks at me strangely before he realizes what happened. Then he joins me laughing.

"I thought your foot was shredded!" I exclaim. "I wasn't sure what we were going to do. I completely forgot that this one is indestructible. I am so glad you stepped on it with that foot!"

"Me too," says Peeta, grinning. "I never thought I would be thankful for my prosthetic foot!"

My hysterical laughter fades, but the tears won't stop. To cover it up, I take Peeta's glass-filled sock to the garbage and begin picking out the pieces of glass, my back turned so he won't see my tears.

"Hey," he reprimands, "don't do that. You might cut yourself."

As he approaches, he catches sight of my tears.

"Katniss," he says in a low voice, "are you ok? Are you sure I didn't hurt you?"

I shake my head. I really don't know why I'm crying. The episode scared me a little, but not as much as the fear that Peeta had hurt himself on the glass. I'm just overwhelmed, I guess.

I don't have the words to say, "I'm not afraid of you," but I want Peeta to understand, so I lay my head on his chest. He wraps his arms around me, rubbing my back, and gently kisses me on the forehead.


	3. Chapter 3

Yesterday's chapter was short (only 700ish words), so I'm giving you the third chapter sooner than I planned. This story is going to be 13 chapters (If I get inspired by an idea to keep going I'll make it a second publication). All are written, the later chapters are being edited. So no worries about it getting orphaned or having to wait months for updates. Chapter four is scheduled for upload on Tuesday, so stay tuned for more Everlark goodness!

XOXO – Libby

The morning after the episode, after the glass, after the kiss on my forehead, Peeta arrives with Greasy Sae for breakfast as usual. I can tell right away that something is off. He seems distant and won't make eye contact with me. He eats his breakfast quickly and says goodbye to us before Sae goes home.

Does he regret kissing me? Is he afraid I'll read too much into it? It was just a little peck on my forehead. I found it familiar and comforting, but it was the kind of kiss you give a little sister. There's no reason for it to make him uncomfortable.

"What's the matter with the boy?" asks Sae.

"I don't know," I reply. "He did have an episode yesterday, but it was pretty mild."

Her eyebrows raise at this revelation, but she doesn't press. I offer to do the dishes by myself, and Sae accepts. She leaves, and the long day stretches before me, lonely. I start the tea kettle and finish the few dishes while it warms up, then make myself a cup of tea and head out to the porch to enjoy the spring morning.

The fresh air and warm sunlight lull me into a late morning nap, and when I wake up, Peeta is on the porch with me, seated in the other rocker.

"Did you need something?" I ask, my voice rough with sleep. "You could have woken me."

"No," he replies. "I don't need anything, and you looked really peaceful. It was nice seeing you smile again. I'm sorry I left so quickly after breakfast. I had an appointment to talk to Dr. Aurelius. About what happened yesterday."

"You don't have to tell me," I say. "You don't owe me an explanation."

"I want to…" he begins, "I want to explain. I don't want you to worry."

I'm tempted to comfort him by reaching for his hand, but I don't know if that would comfort him, confuse him, or give him the wrong idea, so I refrain. We sit in silence for a few minutes, neither of us sure what to say next. Eventually my fear and curiosity get the best of me, and I break the silence by asking the question that has been plaguing me all week.

"Peeta? Why did you come back?"

He seems surprised by the question.

"District Twelve is my home," he begins slowly, as if he is weighing each word before he says it. "My family is here, and I need to take care of them… have them buried properly. I need to see if there is anything left for me here."

I feel a lump form in my throat as I understand that Peeta came home to bury his family and sift through the rubble of the bakery. _So many dead because of a few berries._ _Because of me_.

"Also," he says haltingly, "um… I have, uh, questions, Katniss. Things that aren't… clear. Things the Capital doctors couldn't answer. Some things even Haymitch couldn't answer."

Panic rises in me and it must show on my face because Peeta continues quickly.

"Nothing urgent, you know. But someday. When you're feeling stronger. You know. When we're both feeling stronger. There are just some things I need to understand. Ok?"

Inside my head I'm screaming, _No! No! No! You'll hate me! You'll blame me! You'll leave me like everyone else has!_ But outwardly I only nod and say, "Sure. Of course. I'll help you any way I can."

"I brought you a present," says Peeta, changing the subject, "from the Capital."

I wrinkle my nose at the mention of the Capital, and Peeta laughs.

"You don't want a sequined milkshake maker?" he teases. "How about a neon pink wig?"

I laugh at the thought of walking around District Twelve in a bright pink wig. That would stand out for sure!

"To be honest, my heart is pretty much set on six-inch high heels covered in feathers," I tease back.

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint your highness," says Peeta with a mock bow, "but it is neither of those."

"Well, what is it?" my voice betrays me as I attempt not to sound too eager.

Peeta chuckles again and hands me a large paper shopping bag that I hadn't noticed hiding on the other side of his chair. I look at the bag and for a minute I am afraid of what I might find inside. I lift it, testing its weight, and Peeta chuckles again.

"It's not going to bite," he says, "I promise."

I reach into the bag, and my hand sinks into soft fabric. I lift it carefully out of the bag. It's folded, but it appears to be a blanket or a robe or something, in my favorite shade of forest green. The material is the softest thing I have ever felt, softer than rabbit fur or the thickest velvet upholstery in the Capital.

"It's a blanket," Peeta explains shyly. "A small one to curl up with on the sofa or a chair. Dr. Aurelius and I went shopping on my last day in the capital, and when I saw that green, it made me think of you. It's your favorite color, right?"

"Real," I breathe, rubbing my face on the soft fabric. It smells like Peeta – like cinnamon, dill, fresh-baked bread, and something distinctively masculine. I wonder if its comforting smell will ward off nightmares the way Peeta used to.

I move the shopping bag and realize that it is not empty.

"What else is in here?" I ask.

"Oh, just some more burn ointment. The doctors sent it along in case you're running out."

"Burn ointment?" I ask, "like in the first games?"

"No, silly," Peeta replies, "the stuff for your skin grafts."

I shake my head at him. I have no idea what he's talking about. His eyes grow wide with shock and fear.

"Um, Katniss? Uh, do you have any grafts that, um, that you can show me?"

I blush a little thinking of the grafts hidden under my shirt, and pull up my sleeve to reveal the patchwork skin on my arm. My own skin is olive, the burns are still pink, and the new grafted skin is deep red, dry, and angry. Peeta winces.

"You're supposed to be treating the grafts," he says, "so they stay soft and so they're accepted by your body."

I'm still confused. Why did no one tell me about this? Peeta senses my confusion, but seems to be at a loss for a way to explain it. After a minute he shakes his head and pulls off his shirt to show me. Peeta's back and chest are a patchwork of scars, like mine. But his skin is three shades of healthy pink – the soft pinkish flesh tone of his normal skin, the light pink of his burns, and the slightly darker pink of his grafts. It's not pretty, but everything looks soft and supple. It's nothing like my tight, dry, angry patchwork.

"No… No one told me," I stammer as my fingers reach out of their own volition to touch his exposed back. "I didn't know. I don't have any of that stuff."

Peeta abruptly grabs a tube from the bag and tears it open it with his teeth. He squeezes out a little of the ointment. It is a pearly soft green cream, and it smells vaguely herbal - like mint, or maybe eucalyptus. He rubs the ointment on my arm, and I turn my back to him and lift my shirt a few inches. He gasps at the sight of my untreated back and side, and liberally applies the ointment. I hold out my hand for some medicine, then stick it inside the front of my shirt to treat the burn grafts on my shoulder and upper chest. At the same time, I pull my braid to one side and reveal another graft on the back of my neck. Peeta pulls the neckline of my shirt away an inch or so and applies the ointment to my neck.

The relief is instant. I relax and sigh audibly, but beside me Peeta remains tense. In fact, he appears to be getting angrier and more agitated by the second.

"Who brought you home?" he asks, his voice tight.

"What?" I question.

"When you left the Capital, how did you get home?" he clarifies, now practically spitting the words.

"They put me on a hovercraft. Plutarch and Haymitch were with me. We dropped Plutarch in some other district, and the hovercraft brought me and Haymitch right here to the Village."

"Did you have anything with you?" He asks.

"I don't know," I shrug. "I was pretty out of it. I remember Plutarch talking about peace and Haymitch admitting that my mother wasn't coming back. Then I pretended to be asleep while he ransacked the hovercraft for liquor. I haven't seen him since."

Peeta jolts to his feet, his fists clenched, and marches toward Haymitch's house. His face is stern, and when I call out to him, he only growls for me to stay where I am before disappearing behind Haymitch's front door.

For a few tense moments I stand on the end of my porch facing Haymitch's house. The blank façade reveals nothing. I hear yelling, but can't make out the words. Doors slam several times, and I contemplate what I should do. Do I call Dr. Aurelius? Should I find Thom or Greasy Sae? As I am about to leave my porch and run into town for help, the door opens, and Peeta jogs out of Haymitch's house, slamming the door behind him.

Peeta keeps his gaze turned away from me as he marches behind my house to his. I know he went across the back yards to avoid me, but why?

I move to the other end of my porch, the side facing Peeta's house, and stare across the lawn. There is nothing to see, but the sound of slamming doors and banging cupboards echoes across the empty yard between us.

Again I stand, wait, and think about where to turn for help. After a few minutes I see Greasy Sae rushing up the road to the Village. It's not near dinner time, but she seems in a hurry. Did Peeta or Haymitch call her? Does she have a telephone? Before the war, no one outside the Victor's Village and the mayor's residence had a phone, not even the merchants. But it's possible that the Capital installed one for Sae since she seems to be the babysitter of three unstable Victors. They might need to talk to her to check on us.

Sae bustles into Peeta's house, but she doesn't stay for more than a minute before making her way toward me.

"What's happening?" I ask, panic and confusion in my voice.

"It's all right, Girly," she sooths me. "Them boys got in a little fight and Peeta wants me to check on Haymitch. He's probably too drunk to feel pain, but you know how the boy is. Always worrying about others."

I nod to her and she continues toward Haymitch's house. She's in there for a while, and I hear some yelling and door slamming again before Sae emerges, shaking her head.

"Oh Katniss," she calls before she even reaches me on my porch. "Girly, I am so sorry. No one told me about your medicine either. Can I see it?"

I lead Sae into my foyer and remove my shirt, exposing for her all my burn grafts. She clucks over me like a mother would – like a mother _should_. It makes me angry at my own mother, a healer, for leaving me like this. _She_ would have known better. _She_ should be the one who cares about me and makes sure I get my medicine. Sae apologizes repeatedly for not knowing about the medicine, and I assure her that it is not her fault. I am relieved when she lets me put my shirt back on and leaves me to my quiet house.

Wearily, I drop onto the stairs and sit with my head in my hands. I don't like all the fuss, and in the last hour I've been smothered with attention by both Peeta and Sae, and have apparently been the cause of a fist fight. I don't know how long I sit there, but my reverie is disturbed by the sound of a tentative knock on my kitchen screen door.

"Katniss?" Peeta calls quietly through the screen.

My reply is less than neighborly. "I swear to god, Peeta, if you apologize one more time or make a big deal about my skin, I will go find my bow and arrows."

He chuckles slightly and without thinking says, "Sorry."

"Damn it, Peeta, I said no more apologizing!"

"I know, sorry," he apologizes again and I roll my eyes. "Dang it. I mean I'm sorry for all the fuss. And sorry for apologizing again when you told me not to."

I laugh, a dry, scoffing laugh. "You're too nice for your own good, Peeta."

Now it's Peeta's turn to laugh. "Haymitch might disagree with you right now. Can I come in?"

I stand and cross the kitchen to unlatch the screen door. When Peeta steps in I am startled to see that he has a black eye.

"Peeta! What did you do!?"

He ducks his head like a scolded child and his fingers absent-mindedly wander to the bruise blossoming on his cheek.

"Haymitch did that."

I fight the urge to take my bow and go to Haymitch's, and settle for cursing under my breath. "And what did you do to him?" I ask.

Peeta shrugs and refuses to answer, so I just go to the icebox for something cold to put on his eye. As a healer, my mother kept several ice packs in our freezer. I grab one and wrap it in a soft towel while Peeta takes a seat by the cold fireplace.

"You're lucky he didn't get you with his knife. He even sleeps with it," I admonish gently as I stand in front of Peeta and press the ice to his eye.

He winces from the sudden cold and places his hands on my hips to steady himself. The touch is intimate, familiar, an instinct from a different time, when Peeta loved me. I swallow hard and resist the urge to pull away.

"Thank you," he says, his voice low.

"It's what we do," I remind him, "we take care of each other. You punch my negligent mentor and I ice your bruises."

We laugh quietly as Peeta lifts his hands from my hips to take the ice pack. It's almost dinner time, and Greasy Sae will be back soon.


	4. Chapter 4

**Our two favorite victors seem to be warming up to each other and renewing their friendship. Enjoy the chapter. The next one will be up on Thursday. Don't forget to review :)**

 **XOXO, Libby**

After dinner, Greasy Sae and I go into the bathroom off the kitchen so she can apply ointment to my burns before she leaves for the evening. Once she is gone, Peeta and I begin working on the dishes like we normally do.

"You know," he says, bumping my hip with his as we clean side-by-side "I can help you with that too."

"With what?" I ask, bumping him back.

"With your burn ointment. I helped you this morning, you know. You can get the ones you don't want me to see, and I can get the rest."

"I don't want you to see any of them," I say, scowling.

"Katniss," he scolds, "we look the same. What's the matter? Do I need to take my shirt off again?"

His tone suggests teasing, but I don't feel like joking. I bump his hip with mine again and tell him to keep his clothes on.

Peeta laughs at my comment, then his face becomes serious.

"I really do want to see them," he says. "I want to see that they're getting better. We take care of each other, remember?"

I'm not sure what Peeta wants from me. Are we friends? Family? We have a lot of history together and very few others left in our lives. How do you characterize a relationship like that? And how long will it last?

I'm quiet as we finish the dishes, and after dinner Peeta leads me into the living room and pats the space beside him on the sofa. I gather my green blanket and roll myself in its softness. Peeta smiles when he notices how much I like his gift.

"How have you been feeling?" he asks.

"Fine," I reply, not daring to consider the question much less answer honestly.

"Fine?" questions Peeta. "Good enough that I can ask you some questions?"

 _Oh god. Here we go._

"Um, sure, I guess."

"Ok," he begins, "um… After the games you had nightmares. Real?"

"Real," I reply, "and so did you, though you did a lot less screaming."

He winces at the thought of my screams.

"And now? Do you still have nightmares?" he asks.

"Real," I say sadly. "Do you?"

He nods. "What do you dream about?"

I think for a second, trying to decide if I want to talk about my nightmares. I promised Peeta that I would answer his questions with honesty, but I'm afraid I'll trigger an episode, so I keep my answer short.

"Before the games, I used to dream about my father's death in the mines," I tell him. "I still dream about that sometimes. I also dream about the games, the war, President Snow…" I let my voice trail off and shrug as if my horrific nightmares aren't really a big deal.

Peeta sighs, "We've seen a lot of death."

"Too much," I agree.

He reaches across the sofa and takes my small hand in his big one. His hands are warm, his fingers calloused by years holding art pencils and baking tools. We sit silently, his thumb gently rubbing the back of my hand, and contemplate the lives we've led.

Peeta breaks the silence. "Will you go for a walk with me tomorrow?" he asks. "I would like to see the bakery and talk to someone about giving my family a proper burial."

The burned-out town and the mass grave in the meadow are the last places I want to go, but Peeta needs this, so I agree. We plan to go after breakfast, and he kisses me on the forehead again before heading home for the night.

I'm not ready to go to bed and begin my nightly fight with the memories that haunt me, so I stay of the sofa for a while, wrapped in the soft green blanket that still smells like Peeta.

XOXO

When I wake up, it's morning. The sun is streaming through the living room windows.

No nightmares.

The blanket worked.

As I consider what the day has in store - a walk into town, seeing the bakery, facing the reality of Peeta's family's death - I realize that I may need help. Without another thought, I hop off the couch and run out my front door. I'm half way to town before I realize what I'm doing, but I don't stop. I have to find Thom. I have to tell him about Peeta's episodes so he won't do something to hurt him if it happens when we're at the bakery. I have to protect Peeta because that's what we do.

I find Thom leading a crew at the site of a house being rebuilt just off the town square. He agrees to spare a minute for me, and I explain Peeta's situation.

"You know Peeta is back, right?" I begin.

Thom nods and I continue, "Well, today he wants to walk into town to see the bakery site, and talk to someone about recovering his family."

Thom nods again, his face grave with sorrow. "I can meet you there around eleven o'clock," he offers. "Will that work?"

"Yes," I reply. "That would be perfect. But I have to warn you about something." I can feel tears stinging the back of my eyes. I blink hard and force myself to say what I need to say. "When we were in District Thirteen, Peeta was held prisoner in the Capital. They tortured him." Thom nods again and I can see that this is not new information to him.

I continue, "Peeta is doing a lot better now, but he still has flashbacks, or episodes, sometimes. I'm worried that the stress of seeing the bakery and thinking about his family will be a trigger, and I wanted to make sure you understand so you don't hurt him or something."

Thom's voice registers thoughtfulness and concern when he replies, "If Peeta has a, uh, an episode, what would you like me to do?"

I take a minute to think about it before replying, "I've only seen one episode since he came home. I guess he can usually get through it. We just have to make sure he's safe – that he doesn't hurt himself or anyone else. I guess that's all we can do."

We think for a minute and I add, "And Thom? Do your best to treat him like he's normal. We're both so tired of being used, and broken, and stared at. We just want to be normal again."

It's a lot for me to admit, but for Peeta's sake I open myself up to Thom.

"We'd all like to be normal again," he says, his eyes scanning the rubble of our home.

We shake hands, and I hurry back to the Village knowing I'm probably going to be late for breakfast again.

XOXO

On my way back home, I catch up the Greasy Sae, and we walk together. She doesn't ask me where I've been or why I'm still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. I guess she's used to seeing me in the same things day after day.

As we pass Peeta's house, he steps outside with a greeting for Greasy Sae. When he sees me, he stops in his tracks.

"Katniss," he says in a surprised voice, "Have you been out checking the traps already this morning?"

"No," I reply. I am suddenly aware of how my need to talk to Thom this morning could be hurtful to Peeta. I don't want him to think I'm afraid or distrustful that I felt the need to go _warn_ others that he is coming. So I fib, just a little.

"I was just, you know, out for a little walk," I say, trying – and failing – to sound nonchalant.

His expression shows that he doesn't believe my story, but he doesn't press.

I opt to shower and change clothes while Peeta and Sae finish heating up breakfast, and I am surprised to find that they are quiet when I come back downstairs. The two of them are usually the chatty ones at mealtime, but maybe Peeta is anxious about going to the bakery this morning. He certainly looks grim.

Sae seems unconcerned, but after dealing with my moods for nearly a month, his seem logical and calm. He's going off to face the wreckage of his home and the death of his family; he's entitled to be down this morning. But I can't shake the feeling that something else is bothering him.


	5. Chapter 5

When the dishes are done, Peeta and I put on our boots and leave. All the way to town he looks conflicted. I am tempted to take his hand and comfort him, but he is careful to keep distance between us, so I don't push him. Fear keeps a running dialog in my mind.

 _Maybe he's afraid he'll have an episode._

 _Maybe he's already blaming me for his family's death._

 _Maybe he is wishing he hadn't asked me to come along._

When we arrive at the town square – or what's left of it – Thom is waiting for us.

"Good morning, Peeta," Thom says warmly, shaking Peeta's hand before resting his hand on my shoulder. "Katniss told me this morning that you would like to see the bakery site and talk about recovering your family's remains."

Peeta's face is hard, a look of resolve chiseled on his features. He stares at Thom's hand resting on my shoulder. After a few seconds he shakes his head, throwing off his reverie, and gets back to business.

"It's been too long," Peeta begins. "Now that I'm back I want to see my family properly laid to rest."

Thom nods as he leads us toward the bakery, and gently explains to Peeta how the cleanup crews have been gathering the over 9000 victims of the firebombing and burying them in the meadow.

"Would you like to bury your family privately, or with the others in the meadow?" asks Thom.

Peeta thinks about this for a minute before replying with a choked voice.

"They lived together. They died together. I think they should be buried together."

"That's a good way of looking at it," says Thom. "The new government has promised to build a memorial that we can put there. Something that tells the story of District Twelve and honors the people buried there."

Peeta nods. His face remains grim, but I can see a light dawning in his eyes. Clearly he has a vision of the memorial. Maybe he can draw it out and the Capital can use his design. He is a talented artist and he has enough name recognition to at least get someone to look at his design. I make a mental note to suggest it later.

As we approach the burned-out hulk of rubble that used to be the bakery and Peeta's home, that light in his eyes goes dim. I watch him for signs of an episode, but his eyes remain clear, though sad. His Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard, trying to control the emotion that threatens to wash over him.

I step up beside Peeta and put an arm around his back. On his other side, Thom places a comforting hand on his shoulder. We stand in silence while Peeta takes in the devastation. He is shaking slightly, and I feel myself wishing that Thom wasn't here so Peeta would feel free to express his emotions. At the same time, I'm grateful to have Thom as a buffer.

I wrap my other arm around Peeta's front and hold him in a tight hug. "Are you going to be ok?" I ask.

"No," he chokes out, burying his head in my shoulder. Thom takes a step back, allowing us some space.

I feel Peeta's tears wetting my shoulder, so I pull him closer to let him know I understand. We stand that way for several minutes before Peeta looks up.

"Sorry," he mumbles, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

"Sorry Thom," he adds, nudging me toward Thom and not looking at either of us.

I step aside and Thom shrugs. "No worries, Peeta. We all have a lot to grieve. It's nothing to be sorry for."

When Peeta collects himself, he asks Thom how soon a crew can get started on the recovery. The two men discuss logistics, and I wander around the site. The devastation of the bakery is total. There isn't a solid wall standing anywhere on the site. There are bricks, stones, and charred pieces of wood strewn about the site. Even the massive ovens appear damaged beyond repair, their metal bodies lying battered in the wreckage.

They must have settled on a plan, because Thom is telling us that he has to get back to work. He shakes Peeta's hand and gives me a quick side hug before heading back toward the house they were working on this morning. I turn to Peeta, trying to gauge his feelings by the look on his face. All I see is sorrow.

"Why didn't you just tell me?" he asks in a mumble.

"What?" I ask, unsure about what he said and what he meant, and afraid that this is the beginning of an episode. In a minute I'm sure he'll be calling me a mutt.

"Why didn't you tell me," he repeats, a little louder, "about you and Thom. Why didn't you just say something."

"Thom?" I ask. "Are you talking about this morning? I didn't tell you because I didn't want to hurt you."

"You could have told me." He continues. "I'm still confused about a lot of things, but I know the toasting wasn't real. Haymitch knew that much."

Now I'm really confused. What does our made-up toasting have to do with Thom? Is this an episode? His eyes look clear, and he's not spitting or calling me names, but he's not making any sense.

"Peeta, I don't know what you're seeing right now, but it's not real," I say soothingly.

"Katniss," he snaps, "I am not having an episode!"

"Then what are you talking about?" I yell back.

"You and Thom, Katniss. Why didn't you just tell me that you're with Thom?"

"I am not _with_ Thom, Peeta! Why would you say that?"

"I saw you, Katniss!" he yells. "You came home this morning in the same clothes you were wearing yesterday! You wouldn't tell me the truth about where you were! Thom said the two of you had been together earlier this morning! His hands were all over you! The Capital might have taken my sanity, but they didn't take my eyesight!"

I stand baffled, my mouth hanging open. Peeta must take my silence as an admission of something. He crosses his arms against his chest and continues his tirade.

"You have the right to be with anyone you want, Katniss. But after all we've been through together, I feel entitled to the truth! I won't be treated like some kind of weak invalid who can't handle knowing what's going on under his nose!"

Anger bubbles up inside me, driving away the shock. My hands curl into fists at my sides, and I finally find the words to respond.

"I am not _with_ Thom!" I repeat, practically spitting the words at Peeta. "The _only_ thing I am hiding from you is the fact that I left my house early this morning to arrange for Thom to meet us here. I wanted to explain your flashbacks to him so he wouldn't hurt you if you got stressed out and started having an episode! I didn't tell you because I didn't want to _embarrass_ you! And as for Thom 'putting his hands all over me' as you called it, I have no idea what you mean! He put a hand on my shoulder once and gave me a hug before he left. He did the same thing to you! I'm not crazy about the physical contact, but that's how he always is. With everyone!"

It's Peeta's turn to stand there with his mouth hanging open. I roll my eyes at him, turn sharply, and march toward the Victor's Village. Hot tears pour down my face – tears of hurt and humiliation. I hope the whole district didn't hear that shouting match. My anger, humiliation, and an urgent need to not let Peeta see that I'm crying propel me home.


	6. Chapter 6

**In the course of editing, I just couldn't let this story go, so I wrote a fourteenth chapter. I also made an expanded epilogue that I will post as a one-shot once all fourteen chapters of this story are edited and posted. Thank you so much for reading, and please leave a review if you like the story or if you have constructive suggestions.**

 **XOXO, Libby**

Peeta doesn't come for dinner that night. Greasy Sae asks me about him, but I don't have an answer. I don't know if he even made it home from the bakery. I can tell that Sae is concerned, and her worry softens my anger and makes me worry too. What if he had an episode after I stormed off? What if he didn't make it home and injured himself in the rubble?

When I sit down to eat my dinner, Sae decides to go over to his house and check on him. She is gone for a while, and I take the opportunity to sneak some of my dinner into the trash when she's not looking. I'm not hungry. My appetite is usually small, but after today's fight with Peeta, it's even smaller.

When she returns, there is pity on Sae's face, and a batch of cheese buns in her hands. She hands me the baked goods with a shake of her head.

"The boy is fine," she says, "but he won't be coming for dinner tonight."

I nod, glad to hear that he is home safe. Sae is quiet for a few minutes, then comments again.

"He really cares for you, you know."

I don't trust my voice, so I nod again.

"He's confused, and hurting, but he cares."

I wait for her to say more, but all she does is ask if I can handle the dinner dishes alone. I agree and start gathering up dirty dishes while she packs up to go home.

On her way out the door, Sae grabs my shoulders and looks into my eyes. "Be nice," she says, and ducks out the door before I can respond.

I wash the dishes, alone again. Tears stream down my face, but I make no effort to wipe them away. I'm 'confused and hurting' too, did she tell him to be nice to me? To quit acting like I'm untrustworthy? To stop yelling at me in public? When the dishes are done I take up my old position in the armchair by the kitchen fire. I light a small fire and sit and feed it small bits of wood and paper long into the night. I think about putting the green blanket into the fire, but I can't bring myself to go that far. I decide that instead I will wash it first thing in the morning, wash out the smell of Peeta and the way it made me feel connected to him.

"Katniss?" the voice is quiet, but familiar. It draws me slowly away from sleep.

"Katniss," it repeats, a little louder. I grumble.

"Katniss!" the voice is louder now, more persistent. I lazily open one eye to see Peeta seated on the hearth beside my propped-up feet.

For a minute, it's just another morning. I think I must have overslept and Peeta and Sae are here for breakfast. I rub the sleep from my eyes, and suddenly the events of yesterday crash into my mind.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, a bit more harshly than I intended.

Peeta flinches slightly. "I came to apologize," he says, his eyes dropping to the floor in front of us. "I made assumptions about you and accusations. I stuck my nose in things that aren't my business, and I embarrassed you in public. I'm sorry."

I sigh. I want to stay angry, and I want to forgive. I have so few people left in my life, I can't afford to throw them away over a misunderstanding.

"You hurt my feelings," I begin, and Peeta's shoulders droop even further. "But I forgive you. Next time you make assumptions, ask me. Just ask me. I will tell you the truth, you know that."

Peeta nods and peeks at me from behind his golden lashes.

"And while we're on the subject," I begin, trying to lighten the mood, "you owe me another apology. I believe you just woke me up. What time is it anyway?"

Peeta grins, "It's almost ten, sleepy head. I had to wake you so we could talk before Sae gets here. Do you usually sleep in this late?"

"No," I explain, "I had a lot of trouble falling asleep last night."

"Oh," he says, the mirth leaving his tone. "Then I do owe you an apology. I'm sorry you lost sleep over our fight."

"I didn't lose much," I explain. "I wouldn't have slept well anyway. I haven't since… Well, since a long time ago."

Other than one short but nightmare-free night rolled in the green blanket, the last night I remember sleeping well was before the Quarter Quell. Probably during the Victory Tour, when Peeta and I shared a bed on the train to ward off the nightmares. Back when we were only living with the nightmares of one games. Before the nightmares of war and hijacking and the deaths of our families and friends. Back then his arms were enough to comfort me. After all we've seen since then, I wonder if his arms would still be enough to protect me from my demons.

Peeta must be having similar thoughts, because he breaks into my remembering, "We used to sleep better together. Real or not real?"

"Real," I answer. "After the first games. We started sharing a bed during the Victory Tour. It helped with the nightmares. For both of us."

Peeta is quiet for a minute, then asks another question. "Katniss, will you take a nap with me this afternoon? We can drag the mattress out of your downstairs guest room and sleep right out in the living room. It would be nice to get some decent sleep again."

The idea sounds absolutely heavenly. I agree, and while we wait for Greasy Sae to come with our breakfast, we drag the mattress and some pillows out of the guest room. Peeta lays down on the mattress and pats the space beside him. I join him, and for an awkward moment we just lay there side-by-side staring at the ceiling.

"This isn't quite how I remember it," says Peeta, opening his arms to me.

Gratefully, I snuggle into his side, my head resting in its perfect space in the crook of his neck. He pulls me in close and I let out a deep breath that I didn't realize I'd been holding for about a year.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 of 14. Seems like a good time to remind you all that I do not own the characters or world of the Hunger Games. They are the property of Suzanne Collins and her publishers. It is my privilege to think about what might have come after the end of Mockingjay. Thank you for reading my story and for the follows, favorites, and kind reviews. Enjoy!**

 **XOXO, Libby**

XOXO

"Well, it looks like you two made up."

Peeta and I startle, then laugh at Greasy Sae's sudden appearance.

"He can't stay mad at me very long," I say in a teasing voice. "You know I'm so sweet and gentle that no one can resist my charms."

Sae and I laugh some more, and Peeta and I climb off the mattress to help with breakfast.

"You're not as prickly as you pretend to be," Peeta says to me, throwing an arm across my shoulders.

Turning to Greasy Sae, he adds, "yesterday, Thom hugged her and she didn't even put an arrow in his eye."

"Hey!" I yell, "I was unarmed!"

He pulls his arm away in mock fear and raises his hands in surrender, making us all laugh again. Our conversation this morning is lighter, more hopeful than it has been lately. We haven't taken our nap yet, but for the first time in a long time we have hope that there might be good sleep in the future. And that hope is contagious, casting a glow of good will like sunlight over the entire morning.

Sae fills us in on gossip around the district, and I am glad to see her smiling this morning. She tells us about the recovery work, citizens who are coming back to Twelve, and who has chosen to make a life somewhere else. We hear about rumored relationships and new babies. It feels so normal, sitting in my kitchen gossiping about the district over breakfast. My heart is lighter than it has been in months, and I eat without being coaxed – the cheese buns from last night, eggs cooked over easy, and sausage patties.

After breakfast, Sae leaves us for the day and Peeta and I gather the dishes as usual. We are just getting started when I suddenly remember that Sae and I did not treat my skin grafts that morning.

"Darn it!" I exclaim when I realize our lapse. "I forgot to have Sae treat my burns before she left!"

"No worries," says Peeta, "I can help you after we do the dishes."

My stomach does a little flip at the thought of Peeta's hands on my bare skin, and I swallow hard.

"Sure," I say warily, "thank you."

"No problem," says Peeta, bumping me with his hip in an effort to keep the mood light.

We finish the dishes in companionable silence, then I put on the kettle to make another cup of tea. While it heats up, I bring the ointment to Peeta. I slept in a pair of soft black pants, a camisole, and a hooded sweatshirt. If I remove the sweatshirt Peeta should be able to get to most of my skin grafts without me having to take off any more clothing.

I remove the sweatshirt and shyly present myself to Peeta. He gently applies the ointment to my forearm, examining the skin carefully.

"This looks better than the other day," he says.

I agree, "it feels better, too."

Peeta slides the strap of my camisole and rubs the minty ointment on the graft on my right shoulder. A shiver runs through me as his warm hands make contact with my bare shoulder.

"These burns are in a weird pattern," he muses, almost to himself. "I wonder how you ended up with a bit here and a bit there, and nothing on your face or your other side."

I take a step away from him, bend my elbow, and pull in my bent arm as if protecting my face. As I curl my body into a defensive posture, the picture becomes clear. I was burned badly on my right arm and shoulder, the right side of my neck, and the right side of my back. There were other burns, too, smaller and less severe that didn't require skin grafts, but the major burns fit together like puzzle pieces when I assume that position. It is clearly how I reacted when the blast hit.

Thinking about that day is hard. I'm struggling to catch my breath, and I feel the walls closing in on me and my breakfast threatening to come back up. When I look at Peeta, there are tears streaming down his face. Without a thought, I launch myself into his arms, and he catches me in a tight embrace.

We were having such a nice morning. We were actually happy. But the sorrow is never far from our minds. We've seen and felt too much for that. Will we always be on this emotional roller coaster?

We stand in the kitchen holding onto each other for dear life until the tea kettle whistles. Startled by the sudden intrusion, we pull away from each other and turn our backs, trying to collect ourselves. I pour the hot water into two mugs and add tea bags. When I turn back to Peeta, his eyes are soft, but dry, and we smile at each other shyly as we take our tea out to the porch.

It has been a very long time since either Peeta or I have gotten any good sleep, so when he suggests at noon that it's time for a nap, I don't argue. He has been quiet since seeing my scars. Because that makes me self-conscious about my ugly skin, I have been quiet as well. A nap is just what we need. I cover us with the soft green blanket, and we curl into our familiar position. Almost instantly I fall into a deep and dreamless sleep.

XOXO

I wake several hours later. At first I am disoriented from waking up in the middle of the afternoon on my living room floor, my head on Peeta's chest. Then I remember our nap and am thrilled to realize that it worked. I got several hours of good sleep uninterrupted by nightmares. I lift my head carefully to see Peeta, and I am surprised to see that he is not asleep. In fact, he looks upset.

"Peeta," I begin in a gentle voice, "are you all right?"

His gaze snaps to meet mine and he offers me a sad smile.

"Bad dream," he explains, "but it was nice to wake up and find I wasn't alone."

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.

Peeta shakes his head. "Things they did to me… in the Capital… It made me… confused, I guess," he stammers.

"You should have woken me," I scold gently. "I can help you figure things out."

Peeta just shakes his head and pulls me closer.

We spend the rest of the afternoon in our nest on the floor watching a movie while rolled in each other's arms like old times. Peeta is still quiet, and I can tell that his dream upset him.

Before Sae arrives for dinner, Peeta looks at me with a determined expression and asks, "Are you feeling strong today?"

I nod, wary but willing to lend Peeta whatever strength I have.

"I'd like to ask you some questions tonight if you don't mind. I need to know what is real, and what is just nightmares and torture."

I nod again and lay my head on his chest so he won't see the panic on my face. I'm not sure what he's confused about, but if it weighs this heavily on his mind, it can't be easy. I wonder briefly if there is any alcohol in this house, but decide that I will have to face this head-on. Even if my answers send Peeta running to start his life somewhere else like my mother and Gale, he still deserves the truth.


	8. Chapter 8

I have never been good with words, and I don't like to talk about my feelings. Most of the time I don't even know how I feel, much less how to explain it to someone else. But I owe Peeta the truth. I owe him the answers that will help him sort things out. So after dinner, I nervously lead him to the living room and take a seat at one end of the sofa.

The thought of this conversation makes me shake with nerves, so I grab the soft green blanket and wrap myself in it like it is my armor. Tonight I go to battle with myself. For Peeta.

"I understand that you have questions. It's not going to be easy, but I want to help you sort things out as soon as possible."

I take in a deep, shaky breath and add, "so ask me anything. It might be hard to talk about, but I promise you the truth, no matter what."

Always thoughtful, Peeta says, "We don't have to do this tonight. It can wait."

"You've waited long enough," I snap. "Besides, I'm feeling good today," I say in a softer tone. "The nap really helped me and I want to help you."

"Um… ok…" he stammers. "Where do I start?"

"Anywhere you want. And if it gets to be too much and you think it's going to trigger an episode or something, just say so. I want to help you, but I don't want to push too hard."

"Sure. Um… I guess I'll start with an easy one. To get the ball rolling."

I nod, and Peeta continues, "Your father. He was a miner, right?"

This might be an easy place for Peeta to start, but it's not easy for me. I didn't expect to have to talk about my dad tonight. I nod at Peeta, confirming his memory.

"And he died?" Peeta continues, "In a mining accident?"

"Yes," I answer quietly, "when we were eleven. My mom fell into a deep depression and basically checked out on us. Prim and I nearly starved to death. I sold what I could, and after that things got desperate. But you threw me the bread, do you remember that?"

Peeta nods, his eyes wide and his face attentive to my story.

"You didn't just feed us for a day or so, you also gave me hope. I tried to tell you – tried to thank you – the next day at school, but I didn't know what to say. That's when I saw the dandelion in the school yard. It reminded me about all the edible plants that my dad had added to the family plant book. That very afternoon, Prim and I went to the meadow and picked dandelion greens. We had food that night because you gave me both bread and hope."

It was just a couple quick sentences, but it felt like deep confession to me. I was afraid that Peeta was going to make me go into more painful details, but his next question revealed that his mind had traveled a different path.

"The plant book?" he said, more question than statement, "Did we work on that together once?"

"Yes," I said, hopping off the sofa to retrieve the book from the shelf beside the fireplace.

I handed the book to Peeta, and he flipped through the pages until he came to an illustration he had drawn.

"I drew this," he said. "Real?"

"Real," I replied. "After the Victory Tour. I injured my heel and had to stay in bed for a few days. You would come to visit, and we started working on the book to pass the time."

He nodded confidently, the answer obviously lining up with his memories.

"So we were friends then?" asks Peeta, inching closer to the difficult questions.

"Yes," I reply. "It was the first normal thing you and I had done together. Before that all we had done was fight for our lives."

He nods, accepting my answer, then grows silent. I let him have a moment to process whatever is on his mind. He is getting more and more agitated, and I fear that he's working himself into an episode.

"Just ask me, Peeta," I say softly.

He shakes his head and runs his hands through his hair before jumping off his seat to pace the room. I watch him warily. He is like a caged animal and I don't know if he's going to attack me or have some kind of breakdown.

Suddenly, Peeta lunges toward me and I startle violently. But he does not attack me. He has fallen to his knees by my side, his face buried in the blanket on my lap. His shoulders are shaking, and although he is quiet, I know he is crying.

Hesitantly, I place a hand on his shoulder and leave it there, hoping to bring him some comfort or ground him in reality. Instinctively, my other hand begins to stroke his hair, and I make small shushing noises which seem to help.

The sobs cease, and Peeta lifts his head to meet my gaze. After several deep breaths, Peeta gathers himself enough to speak.

"Katniss? Um… Are you… Are you… pregnant?"

I see the agony on Peeta's face and it makes me gentle when I really want to laugh. The simple logistics of this question are absurd, but I know Peeta isn't thinking about the fact that if I had been pregnant in the Quarter Quell I would be huge by now or even have a baby. He is asking out of fear, not logic, so I offer him a short answer.

"No, Peeta, I am not pregnant."

He doesn't seem relieved by my answer. Tears fill his eyes again.

"Are, I mean, were… I mean, do we? Um… Is there… _This is so hard_! Did you have a baby without me, Katniss? Or did you lose a baby and I wasn't there for you?"

Just asking the question seems to have taken a lot out of him, and tears pour down his cheeks.

"Peeta, there was never a baby," I soothe. "I was never pregnant. That was a story you told at the Quarter Quell interviews. I don't know if you were hoping to drum up sponsors, make the capital people turn against the games, or just save me, but it was a brilliant strategy."

"It wasn't shiny," Peeta mumbled. "I thought it might be real. Haymitch told me it wasn't real, but I just wouldn't shake the fear that I abandoned you. Abandoned my child."

"You really did say that," I try to comfort him, "saying it was real. But the baby wasn't."

I expect Peeta to brighten up, but instead he dissolves into sobs again. Is he disappointed or relieved? I don't know what else to say to him, so I go back to stroking his hair and let him cry. Seeing him this broken is hard. I feel responsible for his pain and confusion, but I don't know how to help.

Once he cries himself out, Peeta raises his head to look at me.

"I'm sorry," he says, "it wasn't shiny, and the Capital used that a lot. They told me horrible, awful things about things I did to you and things you did to me. I didn't know what to believe." He shudders at the memories, and I don't ask for details.

Though the baby questions are settled, Peeta still seems aggravated. He continues to pace the floor in my living room. I slip into the kitchen to make us some tea.

I stay in the kitchen while the kettle heats and the tea steeps, giving Peeta time alone to process his feelings and come up with his next question. When I return to the living room, he is seated on the sofa again and appears sad, but calm. I hand him his tea, give him a small, encouraging smile, and take my place on the other end of the sofa.

"Can I ask you more questions, or is that enough for tonight?" he asks.

"It's up to you," I reply. "I'm ok to keep going if there is more you want to know. Or we can start again tomorrow if this is too much."

He nods, and we sit silently, blowing on our tea and taking the first tentative sips of the scalding liquid. Peeta sets his tea on the coffee table before beginning again.

"When I was in the Capital," he says in a quiet but strong voice, "they injected me with tracker jacker venom. You know that. While I was under its influence, they would show me videos and tell me stories. The videos were altered, edited, and some were completely made up, with actors and stuff, but they looked real."

He shudders again, but continues to speak. "They used the things that were real, mixed them with things that were believable or partly real, and eventually got to the point where they could show me bold lies and I would believe it. It's really hard to talk about this because obviously you were a big part of the lies they told. And some of the memories they messed with … God, Katniss, this is so hard! If what I remember is real, it's horrible! And if it's not real? What if I've forgotten things that really matter? You'll be so hurt! What kind of person am I?"

I reach across the sofa and take Peeta's hand in mine, rubbing small circles on the back of his shaking hand.

"Peeta," I begin in a soft voice, "I'm here. And I'm willing to answer your questions. You can't be too bad of a person or I wouldn't be here with you. Right?"

For a second, my comment seems to bring him confidence, but then his face falls.

"God, Katniss. You won't be so nice when you hear what I can't remember."

"Just ask me, Peeta, I want you to know the truth even if it's hard."

Peeta takes another deep breath and I set my tea on the table, ready to face the next question.

"So, um… I know the pregnancy wasn't real," Peeta begins, "but that same night I told everyone that we had a toasting. That wasn't real either, right?"

"No," I say, barely more than a whisper.

Peeta nods, he expected that answer. He told me in town yesterday that he knew the toasting wasn't real. Then he continues, "OK. We weren't married and there was no baby. But were we… Did we…"

I realize what he is struggling to ask, and my cheeks grow pink.

"No," I interrupt. "We didn't."

"Really?" he asks.

"No," I say, quieter this time.

Peeta's mouth falls open, his eyes fill with tears, and he is speechless for once. Mutely, he reaches across the sofa and pulls me to him. I allow him to pull me in, anything to comfort the terror he seems to be experiencing. He wraps me in his strong arms and begins sobbing again, and all I can do is hold him. After a few minutes, words come pouring out with his tears.

"They… They showed me video of you. You laughed at me, ridiculed me. You used me. You didn't love me but you used me. You let me love you, let me… do things to you… and all the while you were laughing at me. Then they planted memories of walking in on you and Gale. And you both laughed at me. You pretended to love me to use me. To laugh at me!"

The story is too close to the truth. Although our relationship was never physical and I didn't laugh at him, I did use him. I used his feelings to keep us alive during the games. I feel horrible.

"I never laughed at you," I try to set things straight. "I never laughed at you, and I was never with Gale. Never."

Peeta nods his head against my shoulder and continues, "There are other memories. Times when I… I forced myself on you. I hit you. Hurt you."

I interrupt him again, this time with a firm voice.

"Peeta! Listen to me – It's _not real_. You have _never_ hit me. You have _never_ taken advantage of me. You are the kindest person I know. You always think about how others feel and what you can do to make them happy."

He shakes his head, disbelieving.

"No, Katniss. I did hurt you. I tried to kill you in Thirteen. That was real. And if that was real, then I'm capable of hurting you."

"No, you're not," I say. "You're better than that. The Capital made you hurt me. It wasn't you. I remember who the real enemy was, and it wasn't you. It was never you."

Peeta nods again, but I still feel his tears soaking the shoulder of my shirt.

"Can I… Can I just hold you for a while?" he asks.

It's my turn to nod, and we wrap our arms around each other and sit until long after our tea goes cold.

XOXO

When Peeta eventually says goodnight to me, I am tempted to ask him to stay. Tonight was hard for both of us, and I am already dreading the long night and its dreams. But Peeta needs some space. He needs to sort through what he learned. So after a long hug at the door, we go our separate ways.

I cannot help but wonder what happens next. Peeta has his answers. He is under no obligation to me. We're not secretly married. We don't have a child. He doesn't owe me anything and he's not bound to me. Now that he knows all of that, he can make decisions about his future. Will he want to stay with me now that he knows he doesn't have to? Or now that the blinders of young love and obligation are gone, will he see me for who I really am and run away?

I wasn't enough for my mother – she left me in my darkest hour because I'm not the daughter Prim was. I wasn't enough for Gale – he claimed to love me but was so blinded by his rage that he sacrificed the one person I cared about the most. Love doesn't run away when things get tough. Love doesn't sacrifice others to get what it wants.

Since the day my father died, love has only let me down. My mom, Gale - even Prim and Finnick abandoned me when they died. Peeta used to love me. He was kind, thoughtful, selfless, and faithful no matter what. Even when we were in the arena – twice – he was always looking out for me. But the Capital took that away too. And now that he knows our relationship wasn't real and the things that bound us together were lies? Now it's his turn to leave.

I feel like a lead weight is tied to my heart. I need to prepare myself for the blow of Peeta's abandonment. It will take a few days for Thom and the crew to recover the bodies of Peeta's family and clear the bakery site, but as soon as they do, he will move on with his life. He'll go somewhere without all the painful memories. Somewhere that isn't next door to a crazy girl that haunts his nightmares. Until then, I need to support him as best I can through his grief, to be there for him like he always was for me.


	9. Chapter 9

This is the worst night I have had since I came home.

I start in my usual spot, the armchair by the kitchen fire. For a while I mull over my coming separation from Peeta, now that he knows he doesn't have to be here. I feed small bits of wood and bark to the fire. As much as I don't want to, I eventually doze off. The nightmares find me instantly, and they are brutal. Blood, smoke, and mutts run wild through my mind. I wake suddenly, choking on blood and fire, and it takes a few minutes to realize I'm not really choking.

I pace around the house, trying to burn off the nervous energy and adrenaline. I try resting on the mattress where Peeta and I napped, but it smells like him, and that hurts too much. I get a drink of cold water and relocate to my bed. That isn't any better. Here the memories are of working on the plant book, and when I doze off again I dream of being tangled in vines that are dragging me into a pit with teeth.

I snap awake, sticky with sweat and tangled in my sheets, so I decide to take a shower. I spend a long time under the stream of hot water, but I cannot shake the anxiety and grief that plague me. After my shower, I give up on sleep and wander around my house looking for something I can do to keep busy until morning.

Haymitch stays up all night. I briefly consider visiting him, but I feel bad enough about myself as it is. I don't need his caustic remarks about how I don't deserve Peeta. I know that. I say that to myself already.

I flip through television channels, browse the small collection of movies I own, and read the spines of every book on my shelves. Nothing appeals to me. I find some games and puzzles on a closet shelf, and decide to give jigsaw puzzles a try. I pour the pieces onto my rarely-used kitchen table. Since we take most of our meals on the stools at the island, it won't matter if it takes weeks to finish the puzzle. I sort the pieces, turning them face up and making a pile of straight edge pieces. I construct the border and start looking for pieces that go together.

By the time the sun comes up, I have made quite a bit of progress on the puzzle, and my eyes are having trouble focusing. I wonder if Peeta will be willing to watch a movie or something today so I can nap, but I decide not to push him. I need to learn to sleep without him or I will fall apart when he leaves.

I am still picking away at the puzzle when Greasy Sae and Savannah arrive, a bit earlier than usual. Sae greets me in an upbeat voice, no doubt expecting the lighthearted banter of yesterday, but stops abruptly when she sees the bags under my eyes and the half-finished puzzle.

"Did you and Peeta start a puzzle last night?" she asks with a concerned look at my sleep-deprived face.

"No," I reply. "I had trouble sleeping, so I started it to keep my hands busy."

She accepts my answer but her face remains grim. While we wait for Peeta to arrive, Sae applies the ointment to my skin grafts. I take the ointment upstairs and change clothes. On my way back down, I hear Peeta and Sae talking. I use my hunter's stealthy tread so I can listen as I sneak up on them.

"She doesn't look so good this morning," I hear Sae warning Peeta.

"It's my fault," replies Peeta in an anguished voice. "We talked about some hard things last night. She answered questions about some of the worst things the Capital told me. I should have waited, but I had a dream, and I was really upset, and I just wanted some answers."

"You deserve to know the truth," I say from the doorway.

Peeta and Sae startle at my sudden appearance. Sae turns back to the stove where she is cooking up bacon and scrambling eggs.

Peeta turns to me, his eyes sad. "You had a rough night?" he asks.

I shrug and try to avoid his gaze as I cross the kitchen and return to my puzzle.

"Are you all right?" he tries again.

I shrug again and say, "I didn't sleep much last night, but it's fine. I have a lot of nights like that."

By the look on Peeta's face, I can tell that this conversation is not over, but he lets it go for now. Savannah takes the opportunity to pull on Peeta's arm, and when he turns his attention to her, she hands him a ball. They sit down and roll the ball back and forth while Sae finishes our breakfast and I work on the puzzle. We eat breakfast together, and Sae and Savannah take their leave while Peeta and I gather the dirty dishes.

While he waits for the sink to fill with warm, soapy water, Peeta puts an arm around my shoulders.

"Bad dreams?" he asks.

I nod. Apparently I'm back to conversing only in nods and shrugs, and I can tell that it bothers Peeta.

He tries again. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I shake my head and force myself to speak. "I don't like to talk about my nightmares. They get enough of my attention at night."

Peeta accepts this then asks, "Did you start the puzzle to keep yourself awake? To avoid the nightmares?"

"No," I reply, "I couldn't sleep. I needed to keep busy."

His face is sad, and his voice is frustrated. "Katniss, I appreciate you answering my questions last night, but you really should have been more honest with me and let me know you weren't ready for that. I don't want to hurt you, but you have to help me with that, you know."

I'm overly tired, so the tears come quickly. I hate crying. I hate that Peeta can see how upset I am. I avoid his gaze as I wipe the clean dishes.

"It's like a bandage, Peeta. It's going to hurt. It's better to tear it off quickly and get it over with so you can go on with your life. There's no sense dragging it out. You needed answers; I had them. That's it."

It's obvious that he isn't going to get anywhere with me. I'm stubborn and it's too late to do anything different anyway. We finish the dishes in silence, and Peeta leaves as soon as we are done.

I'm too tired to go to the woods today. My hands are shaking too much to work on the puzzle. I grab a movie off the shelf without even checking the title, and turn it on. Within minutes I am asleep on the mattress on the floor, dreaming of dragon mutts that breathe fire.


	10. Chapter 10

Dinner is a silent affair. My nap was anything but restful, and I'm in no mood for Peeta's self-deprecating apologies. My nightmares are not his fault, today or ever.

As we eat, he tells Sae not to plan on him for breakfast the next morning. Thom and the crew are going to start cleanup at the bakery site, and he wants to be there, at least for the recovery phase. The first day or so, the crew will dismantle the demolished building with hand tools and light equipment. Once the remains of Peeta's family are recovered, larger equipment run by military personnel will make quick work of the rubble.

"I can go with you," I volunteer.

"You don't have to do that," he says.

"I want to," I reply. "Having someone to talk to might make it easier; I can help you if you have an episode or something."

Peeta gives me a questioning look, but seeing the determination on my face, he agrees to let me tag along. Sae promises to bring dinner around four, like usual, and reminds me that I can always come and get her if we need her during the day. We agree, but she still seems concerned as she makes her way out of the house.

Peeta tells me that he offered to bring rolls in the morning for the work crew, so I shoo him out of my house so he can get started. I can handle the dishes just fine on my own. Reluctantly, he agrees, and we say goodnight far earlier than usual.

I make quick work of the dishes, and pick at the puzzle until I am tired. I try every trick Dr. Aurelius taught me to help me sleep without resorting to sleep syrup. I take a warm bath with lavender, sip chamomile tea, and read a boring book in bed until sleep takes me.

The nightmares find me. They always find me. I dream that the dead rise from their graves to seek revenge on me. President Snow's corpse leads them, blood dripping from his mouth. He smells of rot and death, and the genetically modified rose in his lapel does nothing to mask the stench. My screams wake me, and I am relieved to see the early dawn light that means I don't have to go back into my nightmares.

I dress for a hard day at the work site – jeans, boots with thick soles, and two layers of grey shirts that won't show dirt. Downstairs, I put together a bag with a first aid kit, some food, and bottles of water.

When it is time to go, I walk to Peeta's kitchen door and knock softly. He answers quickly, and I help him wrap up the last of the cinnamon and caramel rolls that he has made for the construction crew. We walk together to the bakery, and I notice Peeta's feet slowing the closer we get.

"I baked for the crew so I would have something to keep my mind off the recovery," he confesses.

"Dr. Aurelius says it's good to keep busy," I suggest.

He nods. "Now that we're on our way, it's kind of hitting me," he says. "It's getting real."

"Are you ok?" I ask.

He nods. My hands are full of baked goods, so I can't do anything to comfort him. Good thing we don't have far to go.

When we arrive at the site, the workers are excited about the cinnamon and caramel rolls. Peeta made plenty, so the workers can try both, and I snatch a caramel roll before they're all gone. While the workers enjoy the baked treats, Thom and Peeta address them. Thom throws an arm across Peeta's shoulders and speaks first.

"You boys no doubt recognize Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen," he begins. "Well, today we are beginning our work on the Mellark Bakery site. Peeta's parents and two brothers were home the night of the bombing, and none of them have been heard from, so today we're looking to find them and lay them to rest properly. I know you all appreciate what Peeta and Katniss went through in two Hunger Games and in the war. We owe our freedom to these two in so many ways. Peeta, it is our honor to help you recover your family today. We are sorry for your loss and we will do everything we can to help."

Peeta, with every eye on him, manages to maintain his composure, but the tears run freely down my cheeks. After collecting himself, Peeta also addresses the assembled workers.

"This means a lot to me," he begins in a halting voice. "I don't even know how to express it. The Capital took so much from us…"

He chokes up and Thom squeezes his shoulders harder while he regains control of his voice.

Peeta continues, "They didn't just take my family and destroy our home. When I was captured after the Quarter Quell, the Capital tortured me. I don't usually share that with anyone, but I want you to understand, because you might see me struggling with flashbacks today. After all, finding my family and cleaning up my home is stressful, to say the least. I just wanted to share that with you so you're not surprised. Katniss knows how to handle it if I have an episode. If I hurt her…" his voice cracks and a tear rolls down his cheek, "…if I hurt anyone, please intervene. I don't want that to happen. I hate what they did to me – to all of us."

Around the circle, the men have stopped eating. Heads are nodding and some look like they're fighting back tears as well. I wonder what haunts the nightmares of these former miners who escaped the firebombing and lived through the war. I recognize a few of them from the Seam and think of their wives and families. I wonder how many of them survived and how many of them have already been laid to rest in the meadow.

One by one the workers walk up to Peeta and Thom. They shake hands, some offer hugs, and they exchange brief words about our shared loss. Some of them even seek me out to thank me or give me a quick hug. I make sure to thank them for their hard work and inquire about the families I remember.

"Let's get to work!" Thom calls out, and the men move toward the pile of rubble that was once Peeta's home. I approach Peeta, and he wraps me up in a shaking bear hug.

"That was very brave," I whisper in his ear. "I'm proud of you."

"I wanted them to know the truth," he says. "These are all District Twelve guys. This is their home too. We share this tragedy, and I wanted to be honest about my struggles."

I nod against his shoulder, and we pull apart to clean up after breakfast.

.

XOXO

.

The workers pick at the rubble for two hours before they find the first of Peeta's family members. Between the intense heat of the firebombing and the time that has elapsed since then, all they find are bones. There is no way to tell which family member has been recovered. Just before they break for lunch, a second skeleton is found.

When the men break for lunch, the mood starts out somber. I dig sandwiches out of the bag I brought and Peeta and I sit on the ground with the workers. We get a lot of curious looks at first, but eventually one of the younger workers starts a conversation with me.

"I'm Jak," he says, offering me his long, calloused hand. He's a few years older than I am, tall and lanky, with the olive skin and dark hair of the Seam.

"Katniss," I reply automatically as I accept his handshake.

He laughs at this, a loud guffaw. "I bet you never have to introduce yourself to anyone as long as you live!" he howls.

He has a point, and I smile. The other men grin and some chuckle.

"Is it true that you aren't allowed to leave the district?" asks Jak. "If you don't mind my asking."

"That's what they tell me," I reply. "Though Haymitch might have made that up to keep me from running off."

The men laugh again. I enjoy their familiar, hard-working, Seam ways. They remind me of my father, and bantering with them feels natural.

"Oh, you could outrun that old drunk any day of the week!" says Jak. The men nod in agreement, their mouths full of hearty sandwiches.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" I tease.

"No ma'am!" says Jak. "We're proud to have you here, and to tell people that you're from District Twelve. We would never want to run you off! I just meant that old Haymitch is a drunk who can't stop you from nothin'!"

"Well," I reply, "I'll take that as a compliment then."

Jak's cheeks redden and he stuffs a large bite of sandwich in his mouth. The other men rib him good-naturedly.

"Have you been hunting much?" asks Edwin, a former neighbor from the Seam.

I shake my head. "I reset my snare lines, but I haven't done any actual hunting. I'm not as strong as I used to be, and hunting takes a lot of energy."

He nods and says to the others, "This girl here could hit a squirrel dead in the eye from a half mile away!"

It's a wild exaggeration, and I nearly choke on my sandwich laughing with the men.

"Ok, maybe not a half mile," conceded Edwin, "but she's a darn good shot!"

"I haven't had squirrel in ages," says Jak, licking his lips.

Again, heads nod around the circle. For a brief minute I think about hunting again. It would be nice to contribute something to the district and to these guys who work so hard to clean up our home. Maybe if I set up a target in my back yard, I could practice first. Once I get stronger, my hands get steady, and my mind gets used to the idea of shooting animals, maybe then I could hunt again.

Peeta nudges me with the toe of his boot and I realize that someone is talking to me.

"Huh? Sorry. I wandered off." I say, shaking my head.

"I was just asking if you have much for bows and arrows," asks a man I don't know.

"I think I have two bows," I say, unsure which of my father's weapons were recovered after the fire. "My father made them. I have arrows too, but not a lot of them. He taught me to make them, but it's been a long time. And mine were never as good as his. I've kept the arrowheads sharp over the years. Now that it's legal I should order some supplies and try again."

"If you figure it out, I would buy a set from you," says the man.

"Me too," says another.

"I'll look into it." I say.

"And we should get back to work," says Thom.

The men return to work, and Peeta places a hand on my back.

"And you think you're unfriendly," he teases.

I laugh. "They felt so familiar, like home. I haven't been able to have a normal talk with Seam people since the first games. Once we won and I moved up to the Village, no one associated with me anymore."

"Well, you were a dangerous revolutionary," says Peeta.

"I was a little girl with a bow and arrows who just wanted to go home without having to kill my friend to get there," I say.

Peeta rests his head on top of mine. "When you put it that way, it sounds so different."

"I never wanted to start a war," I explain. "That was Gale's thing. I just wanted to be left alone and to take care of my family. I hated the Capital, but I was no revolutionary."

"And yet…" he begins and leaves the thought hanging in the dusty air between us.

A clamor from the worksite gets our attention. They have found another skeleton in the rubble. I put my arm around Peeta as the workers carefully bag and remove the remains.

A little later the workers call for Peeta to come see something they found in the wreckage. He jumps up and runs to the spot they indicate, and I follow close on his heels. It's a green metal box, about a foot wide, eighteen inches deep, and two feet tall. The outside is charred, the green paint nicked and scratched all over. A safe.

Peeta's hands shake as he approaches the safe. He kneels before the door and grabs the little twisting knob that unlocks the door. He gives is a slight turn, then abruptly pulls his hand away. His back muscles tense. I motion for the workers to give him some space, and locate myself on the other side of the safe, looking directly at Peeta's contorted face.

His pupils are dilated, his face anguished. Every muscle in his body is tense to the point of trembling. He grips the edge of the safe so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

"Mutt," he says in a deep-throated growl.

"Peeta," I say in a calm but firm voice, "it isn't real. Not real, Peeta. Not real."

He shakes his head and growls again, "You killed my family, Mutt."

"No Peeta," I say, "Snow killed your family. The Capital killed your family."

He is quiet for a minute, but the conflict inside his head registers on his face.

Instinctively, I start singing. It's quiet at first, but as I watch the music erode the tension from Peeta's features, I gain volume and confidence. I sing the Valley Song, because it is the first thing that comes to mind. I know that he has, or at least had, a positive memory associated with that song. I pour out my heart with every word, hoping it can break through the episode and bring Peeta back.

Peeta drops to his knees. Leaning against the safe in the rubble that was once his home, he sobs into his arms. I rush to his side and throw my arms around him. Thom kneels on his other side and puts a hand on Peeta's back. He motions for the other workers to go back to what they were doing, and silently they turn back to the rubble piles.

"Peeta?" I say quietly, "Do you want to go home?"

He shakes his head. I ask Thom to get him some water from the bottles I brought, and when we are alone, I turn back to Peeta.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

Peeta nods, fiercely swiping the tears from his cheeks.

"I hate crying in front of people," he growls.

I laugh. "I think they understand."

Thom returns with the water, and after taking a long drink, Peeta climbs to his feet. He works with a couple of the men to wrestle the heavy safe out of the rubble. He makes no attempt to open the safe, and I wonder if he knows the combination.

I convince Peeta to rest in the shade for a little bit, but his reprieve is short lived. The workers uncover two more bodies in the rubble.

"Five?" I ask, confused. "Would there be customers in the bakery that late at night?"

"No," says Peeta. "Unless… Chessie?"

"Who?" I ask.

"Chestina Davis," says Peeta. "Chessie was my oldest brother, Rye's girlfriend. They were pretty serious, and she spent a lot of evenings at our house."

Thom retrieves a clipboard and checks a few pages.

"That's possible," he says as he looks over his notes. "We did the cleanup at her uncle's house and came up one body short there. And she's not on the list of known survivors."

Peeta shakes his head sadly and lets out a long sigh.

"She was so nice," he says. "She liked to tease, and she had a great smile. My brother was crazy about her."

I put my arm around Peeta's back, and he slumps into me.

"Katniss, I want to go home now," he says in a defeated tone.

I arrange for Thom to have some workers cart the safe to Peeta's house in the Victor's Village when they are done for the day. Since all the bodies have been recovered, the army is free to bring in heavy equipment tomorrow, and the demo will go much faster.

I lead Peeta to the Village. He is so tired and defeated that I don't dare leave him alone at his house, so I lead him to mine. I take him upstairs and into my bathroom where I tell him to take a long shower while I run to his house for some clean clothes. He acknowledges my directions with a nod, and I can only hope that he will actually shower while I run next door.


	11. Chapter 11

I bring Peeta some fresh clothes – soft sleep pants, a tee shirt, and clean socks and underwear. I leave the pile by the bathroom door, and am relieved when he comes downstairs clean and dressed soon after. He slumps onto our mattress nest on my living room floor, and I cover him with the soft green blanket. Peeta emits a long, sad sigh. I ask if there is anything I can bring him before I go clean up. He asks for a sketch pad and some pencils. Since he keeps a set at my house, the request is an easy one. I leave him staring at a blank page and go to shower.

When I return, Greasy Sae has arrived with dinner. Neither Peeta nor I have much of an appetite, but we make an effort, and Sae doesn't scold as much as usual. She knows too well the kind of day we endured.

I am up to my elbows in sudsy dishwater when someone knocks on the front door. I'm not expecting visitors, but I ask Peeta to check who it is. It's Jak and a couple other workers, delivering the safe. They were unsure which house to deliver it to, so Peeta leads them back to his place and helps them unload the heavy box in his living room while I finish the dishes.

Once the safe is unloaded, Peeta comes back to my house.

"Did you open it?" I ask. "Do you know the combination?"

"I know it," he replies, "but I didn't open it yet. Will you come with me?"

I'm confused by this request. Is Peeta afraid that the safe's contents will trigger an episode? Whatever it is, Peeta obviously doesn't want to go through it alone, so I follow him home.

The safe is sitting in the corner of Peeta's living room, behind an arm chair. Without even removing his shoes, Peeta rushes to the green box and kneels before the door. With a few deft turns of his wrist, the door lock pops. He glances at me, his face filled with both hope and fear.

"If it's in here…" he chokes on the words, "…if it's in here… Katniss, you have no idea…"

"If what's in there?" I ask.

Peeta's mouth opens and closes a few times, like a fish, but no words come out.

Finally he whispers, "the family recipe book. If it was in here, it just might have survived."

He stares at the unlocked door, but makes no move toward it.

"Open it already!" I say, anxious to find out.

The heavy door opens on creaking hinges. Peeta's mouth drops open. The safe is full of paper, and though it smells smoky, it survived the fire. He lifts his shaking hands to the top shelf of the safe and reverently slides out a large scrapbook. It looks like my family's plant book. He opens to the first page, and I see "Mellark Bakery" written inside the cover in neat script.

Peeta flips through the pages. His fingers caress the cramped, old-fashioned handwriting on the pages. He smiles when he comes across a page illustrated with a childish drawing of a cupcake.

"My first contribution to the book," he explains, pointing at the drawing.

As he flips through the pages, there are more illustrations, and it feels like watching Peeta's artistic talent develop right before my eyes. Childish cartoon drawings of cookies give way to cake designs and then still life drawings of bread steaming on a windowsill.

"They're beautiful," I breathe. "You should add a drawing of the cake you made for Finnick and Annie's wedding. That was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It would be nice to have memories of the good things we've seen."

Peeta eyes me for a minute, then nods at my suggestion. After leafing through every page in the bakery's book, Peeta returns it to the safe, gently patting the spine.

"I'd like to go through the rest of this tonight," he says. "Would you mind hanging out here this evening? I don't really want to be alone. I know most of this is garbage now – invoices and inventories that don't matter after the fire, but there are some family papers in here too, and maybe some photos. I'd like to clean it out so I can rest tonight."

I agree to stay, and Peeta turns on a movie for me to watch. As I watch him toss unimportant papers, I realize that there is going to be a lot of open space in the safe.

"Peeta?" I ask, "When you're done, can I put something in there? Since it's fireproof and all?"

Peeta agrees enthusiastically and I'm out the door before I can change my mind. I return with the plant book and a small black velvet bag. Peeta grins when he sees the book, and slides it in the safe next to the bakery book. When I hand him the bag, he gives me a quizzical look.

"You can look," I say.

He opens the drawstring on the bag and pours the contents into his hand. The bag contains three small items. The first is the gold mockingjay pin. He nods as he drops it back into the bag. The second is the spile that Haymitch sent us during the Quarter Quell.

"Drink up," says Peeta, dropping the spile back into the velvet bag.

The third item is the pearl that Peeta gave me.

"How do you still have this?" he asks, his voice full of awe.

"I don't know," I reply. "It has gone everywhere with me, and somehow I managed to not lose it."

Peeta rolls the pearl between his fingers before dropping it in the bag. He stores my treasures in the safe.

"Thank you," I say with a gentle smile. It feels good after a day in the rubble to know that my most treasured things are safe from that same fate.

Peeta spends the evening sorting out his papers. In the safe he finds the deed to the Bakery, his parents' marriage certificate from the Justice Building, birth certificates for himself and his brothers, and a few dollars in cash. These he keeps. The other papers are old receipts for things lost in the firebombing, long-ago filled order forms, and scratch paper supply lists. These he throws away.

As the movie drones on and Peeta sorts, I doze. When I wake up, it is very late, and Peeta is asleep on the sofa beside me. I throw a blanket over his sleeping form and head home in the dark.


	12. Chapter 12

It's pitch black outside when I leave Peeta's house. My hunter's instincts take over, and I begin to creep across the lawn toward my own dark house. A slight rustling noise gets my attention and I stop, still and unbreathing, as I try to identify the sound. I hear it a second time and notice a shrub on the back of my property is moving unnaturally. My first thought is that there is an enemy out there, and I wish I was armed. Suddenly, a small form bursts out of the shrub. Buttercup. The dumb cat is coming home from his nocturnal hunting.

My heart is still racing, adrenaline coursing through my body, as I open the kitchen door so we can enter together. How am I supposed to go back to sleep after that? I scowl at the cat, who plops down in the middle of the kitchen floor, grooming himself without a care in the world.

Dr. Aurelius taught me some tricks for calming myself. They don't really work, but I have to try something if I want to get some sleep tonight. I remove my boots and put the tea kettle on the stove. After chamomile tea, a short bath with lavender-scented water, and putting on my most comfortable pajamas, the adrenaline rush has passed, but I'm still not sleepy. I sigh and drag myself into my bed for another long night.

Every night when I go to bed, I feel like a knight from a story book. I wrap myself in the best armor I have – soft blankets, pillows, and comfortable pajamas. I get on my trusty steed – be it the armchair by the fire, the sofa, or my bed, and I prepare myself to fight my dragons – vicious, fire-breathing nightmares. No matter how hard I try, no matter what armor I put on or where I spend the night, I cannot avoid my nightmares. That's the thing about battling dragons. No matter how good your armor, weapons, and horse are, they don't scare away dragons. They just help you live through the fight. Every night I go to sleep knowing that I will have to face my nightmares. I just hope I can make it through another battle.

Tonight is no different. Though there are just a few hours until sunrise, the nightmares find me. I dream of pens full of Capitol children. I see them bundled up against the winter cold, their jackets an assortment of bright colors and bizarre designs that stand out against the white snow and the grey cobblestones of the square. I watch in slow motion as a hovercraft glides toward them. I catch a glimpse of the pilot through the hovercraft's window. It is Gale. He has a wicked look on his face, an evil grin that shows how much he enjoys what he is about to do. He pushes a button and the bomb bay doors on the belly of the hovercraft open. Parachutes waft gently on the breeze, and unlike the day of the bombing, this time I know what they contain.

I try to run to the children, but my feet are stuck to the pavement. I try to yell, but no sound comes out. One parachute glides directly toward me. I see that it does not have a metal container attached to it like the parachutes in the games. This parachute has only a large white rose attached to it. I smell it as it approaches, the strong, sickly-sweet smell of Snow's genetically altered roses. The smell makes me sick to my stomach. I want to run, but I still can't move.

All around me, the children raise their hands to reach for the packages. Against my will, my hands also raise up to reach for the parachute and rose coming toward me. I feel the silky smoothness of the rose petals brush my fingertips as the blast occurs. The entire world erupts in sound and light as my voice finally breaks free and I scream.

I thrash around for a minute before I realize that I am in my own bed. My head is pounding and my mouth is dry. I feel hungover, like the morning after Haymitch and I tried to drink away the reality that we were going back into the arena for the Quarter Quell. I fall back onto the bed and try to catch my breath. My legs are still heavy and I have to remind myself that they can move.

Downstairs, a door bursts open and a heavy tread pounds into my kitchen.

"Katniss?" Peeta yells loudly.

Before I can even reply, I hear the door bang again, urgent voices speaking, and then the heavy tread of two sets of feet pounding up my stairs.

"I'm up here," I call, "and I'm fine."

My bedroom door bursts open, revealing the worried-looking faces of Peeta and Haymitch. I haven't seen Haymitch since the day we came home from the Capital, yet here he is in my bedroom. His hair is wild and he carries a knife in one hand.

"It was just a dream," I choke out. I am shocked to see them, especially Haymitch. How loud was I screaming?

Haymitch closes his knife and slips it back in his pocket. He mumbles something that sounds like " _grumble, grumble… start sleeping together… grumble… get some peace around here…"_ as he turns and walks out without saying anything to either me or Peeta. We watch him leave, our mouths hanging open.

When we hear the door slam shut downstairs, Peeta shakes his head and walks up to my bed. He takes a tentative seat on the edge and looks at me intently. I can feel his eyes examining my face, and I wonder what he can see there. I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks.

"It was…" I mumble, "…It was just a dream."

Peeta nods, understanding.

"Do you want to try to get some more sleep?" he asks.

I shake my head. I've fought enough battles for one night. I lay down and turn away from Peeta, staring out the window.

"Can I get you anything?" he asks.

I am in desperate need of a drink of water, but I don't want Peeta's help. With his family buried and his questions answered, I know he is going to leave soon. I can't be dependent on him. My nightmares aren't going away, so I'm going to have to get used to handling them on my own.

I wait in silence with Peeta sitting on the edge of my bed. After a few minutes he stretches out an arm and gently strokes my hair, pulling it back from my face. I scoot further away from him, and he lets out a sigh as his hand falls to the bed. After another minute, he gets up and walks down the stairs and out the door.

The rest of the day is a lot like my first days in District Twelve. I sit in the armchair by the kitchen fire or lay in my bed and stare out the window. I think about nothing and everything. Peeta and Sae come for breakfast, but I refuse to eat more than a few bites, and make no move to help with the dishes. Peeta speaks to me, but I don't answer. He leaves after breakfast, and when Greasy Sae comes back for dinner, Peeta is not with her.

I want to ask about him, but I just can't muster up the energy, so I don't say anything. After cajoling me to eat, Sae begins to chatter about this and that.

"Peeta isn't coming tonight," she says, finally hitting on the only topic I care to hear about. "He had a meeting with some men from the Capital this afternoon. They're busy making plans, and he expected it to go past our meal time."

 _Plans to leave_ , I think. I wonder where he will go. If he's talking to men from the Capital, maybe he is planning to go there. With his history, I am surprised, but maybe he will be on television. He is so good with words, handsome, and famous. People in the Capital would love to see him on television. Maybe he can do a cooking show or host one of those morning shows that mixes news with gossip and nonsense.

Maybe he will go to District Seven, Johanna's home. I don't know if she's living there now, but the two of them are close after everything they went through together, so I can see him choosing to start over near her. District Four would be a good choice, too. Annie is there, and she is expecting Finnick's baby soon. Peeta would be good help for Annie during this time. Plus, he's good with children. I'll bet he would love a chance to be uncle to Annie's baby.

Greasy Sae bangs a wooden spoon on the table beside my bowl, and I snap out of my reverie.

"Girly!" she calls. "I'm trying to get your attention! Now, take another bite. You need to eat."

I obediently take another bite, but the food tastes like ash again. The ash from the bombs, the ash from my life falling apart. What kind of future can I have? I can't leave District Twelve, and everyone I know is leaving me as fast as they can. Someday I will be a hermit living here in exile, alone in the Victor's Village, tending the graves of everyone I know who wasn't smart enough to get away from me. Maybe I'll watch Peeta on television then, and Annie will occasionally send letters until she gives up on me too.

My head drops to my folded arms on the table. A lone tear trickles down my cheek. Greasy Sae sighs and takes my bowl away. She cleans up the dishes, not even bothering to ask me to help. She seems reluctant to leave, and finds little things to do here and there until much later than usual. Eventually, she has to go back to Savannah, and she pats my shoulder as she says goodnight.

The house is silent. The only sound I hear is a clock ticking in a far-away room, and the occasional hum of the electric ice box cycling. I don't know how long I sit there, but when I finally move my neck and back are sore.

I drag myself up the stairs and don't even bother to undress before falling into my bed.

.

 **AN: Grieving and recovering from trauma are really hard. You think you'll get a little better every day, but the truth is that there are days, even moments, that are better and others that are like going backwards. And to protect yourself from more pain, you become closed off and sometimes even turn down the help you need. If you're hurting, please keep fighting. The past can't be undone, but the pain will fade with time, trust me, and you will find good things in your life too.**

" **If you're going through hell, keep going." – Winston Churchill**


	13. Chapter 13

The scene is familiar. A pleasant memory from an otherwise painful period. I'm in District 13, in the large common room where President Coin delivered her terse speeches. But today the room is abnormally festive. There is a platform set up at one end, and rows of chairs lined up neatly around a center aisle. On the platform, I see the man from District 10, Dalton, ready to perform the marriage ceremony, and the bride and groom dressed in the wedding finery salvaged from my closet in District 12.

 _Annie and Finnick_.

Standing in the back of the hall, I cannot make out her flowing red hair or his sea-green eyes, but their love is obvious even from this distance. They have eyes only for one another.

From here she almost looks blonde.

From here he is too short, too stocky to be Finnick.

I know that profile. The groom isn't Finnick, it's Peeta.

As he lifts the veil and uncovers the bride's face, I see that it's not Annie, either. It's Delly Cartright.

Delly grins her trademark bubbly grin at her groom, and he smiles back. There are tears trickling gently down their faces, happy tears. There is no one else in the hall as far as those two are concerned; they have eyes only for each other.

I feel my heart sink into my stomach.

Peeta. My Peeta. With Delly.

He looks happy.

She will be better for him than I ever could. She is happy, and she'll bring joy to his life. He has seen too much darkness. She'll never hide in a closet or forget how to live. Together they can have little blonde children who won't scowl. They'll be happy.

They _are_ happy.

I am not.

I feel my own tears trickle down my cheeks. Mine are not tears of joy. They are tears of regret. Tears of loss.

From the front of the wedding audience, I hear someone begin to clap, slowly. The bride and groom do not even notice, nor does Dalton. The clapping man stands to his feet.

President Snow.

Snow walks up to the platform, still slowly clapping, and climbs the steps toward the couple. A second set of hands joins the slow clapping cadence, and President Coin also rises from the front section of seats and makes her way to the stage.

They are joined by District 12's head peacekeeper, Thread - the man who whipped Gale for hunting. Caesar Flickerman bounds to the stage, laughing his ridiculous stage laugh. Cato, Clove, Marvel, Seneca Crane, Cashmere, Gloss, and Brutus take the stage one at a time, slow clapping together and surrounding the bridal couple, who are oblivious to the mob of enemies surrounding them.

I'm staring at the platform, waiting to see what these dead enemies will do to Peeta and Delly, when I hear a low growl behind me. I know the sound before I even turn to look.

Mutts.

The big dog mutts with the eyes of the dead tributes are right behind me. They growl and snarl, poised to strike.

I am unarmed.

I run toward the platform, screaming for Peeta to help me, but he does not notice me over his own joy. The enemies gathered around the couple begin to laugh as they watch me run from the vicious mutts.

I run toward the staircase, but there is no staircase. I circle the room, but the staircases and doorways I remember are gone. There is nothing here but cold bunker walls. I look for a way to climb to the next level, but there is no way up. There is nowhere to hide in the big open room and nothing to climb on to get away from the mutts. They snap at my heels, growling and foaming at the mouth. I cannot escape. All I can do is put off the inevitable by running for my life.

"Peeta!" I scream as loudly as I can. "Peeta, help me!"

There is no reply from the groom. He doesn't hear me at all.

"Peeta!" I yell in a last-ditch attempt to get his attention.

But Peeta is not my Peeta anymore. He doesn't hear me or see me. He doesn't care about me. His eyes and his heart are filled with Delly, and he no longer cares what happens to me.

As the mutts lunge for me, going in for the kill, I squeeze my eyes tight and let out one last piercing scream.

I hear a thundering boom followed by a frantic voice calling my name.

"Katniss! Katniss! Are you ok? Katniss, speak to me!"

I force myself to open my eyes, and they instantly lock on to beautiful blue eyes wide with fright.

Peeta.

His breathing is heavy, as if he had run from his house to mine in a dead sprint. He is dressed in his flannel sleep pants and a tee shirt. His hair is disheveled and his mouth hangs open in shock and a desperate search for oxygen.

Peeta drops to his knees beside my bed and reaches for me. I launch myself toward him, wrapping my arms around him while my body stays tangled up on the bed.

He pulls me close, but I cannot get close enough. I grip his shirt like a lifeline, and I press my face hard into his shoulder. Sensing my need, he squeezes me tightly in his arms as I sob.

"Shhh, Katniss. It's just a dream. It's not real. You're ok," he comforts.

"I… I…" I can't catch my breath or form the simple sentence on my mind.

Finally, I spit it out, "I lost you!" and a fresh wave of sobs shakes my body.

Peeta just pulls me closer, off the bed and onto his lap as he drops from his knees to a seated position on the floor.

"It's ok Katniss," he coos. "You didn't lose me. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

I shiver, remembering the dream, and Peeta pulls a blanket off my bed and wraps us in it.

When my tears are spent, Peeta lifts my chin and makes me look at him.

"I'm not going anywhere, Katniss," he assures me. "This is my home. You are my home. I'm staying right here."

"Yes you are," I wail, fresh tears stinging my eyes. "Sae told me you were meeting with the capital. Making plans. You got your questions answered. You got your family buried. You'll leave me now - just like everyone else!"

"No!" he replies, his voice loud and firm. "No, Katniss. I'm not leaving. I had a phone meeting with a man from the Capital to talk about plans for rebuilding the bakery. I'm not leaving you. Not now – not ever. This is my home, Katniss. You are my home. I need you! I love you!"

I'm shocked speechless. After everything he's been through, after everything I've done, Peeta still claims to love me.

I don't have the words to tell him how much I need him. I don't have the words to tell him how much he means to me. I don't have the words to say that I love him. So I kiss him, a passionate, desperate kiss. He returns the kiss briefly, then pulls back.

"Uh, Katniss..." he stutters. His eyes look conflicted, even frightened. I see him swallow hard, and putting on a brave face, he speaks again.

"You love me. Real or not real?"

He looks ready to flinch, both hopeful and afraid of my answer.

"Real," I say as clearly and confidently as I can. I want him to know that I am not saying this out of fear from my nightmare. I am no longer unsure. My love for him is real.

For a brief minute he just stares at me, mouth agape, as if he isn't sure he can trust his ears. I smile reassuringly, and that breaks the spell. His hands tenderly reach for the sides of my face, and he pulls me in for a passionate kiss, years in the making.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Sigh… Chapter thirteen was the whole reason I wrote this fic. But once I finished it, I just couldn't let it go. Love is beautiful and wonderful, but it's not a cure-all. Katniss and Peeta still have a lot to overcome, and a lot of work to do. So I gave them one more chapter. A chance to deal with more of their demons and self-doubts.**

 **If you have enjoyed this fic, please check out my other work! I have written for Divergent as well as The Hunger Games. I especially invite you to check out the piece I'm publishing this Saturday, Sept. 23. It's called** _ **Five, Ten, Fifteen**_ **, and it's a long one-shot expanded version of the Epilogue to Mockingjay. Read more about how our favorite victors moved forward in life, and how they eventually have children together.**

 **Thanks for all the love and reviews!**

 **XOXO,**

 **Libby**

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XOXO

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I see the sunlight streaming in the windows before I even open my eyelids. No nightmares. I just woke up naturally, something so rare in my world that I actually notice when it happens. I pry open one eye and see a grey tee shirt rising and falling slowly. Memories of last night come crashing over me.

 _What did I do?_

Peeta said he still loves me. Was that real or was he trying to make me feel better after my nightmare? And I confessed, in a roundabout way, that I love him too.

 _Oh god, what did I do?_

I inch my way carefully off Peeta's sleeping chest, wiggling free from his arm without waking him up. I scoot to the edge of the bed and let my legs fall off the side. For a minute I stare out the window at the world coming alive with the morning sun, then I let my head fall into my hands.

 _What did I do?_

I can't love Peeta. I mean, obviously we care about each other. We've been through a lot together. We're friends, family even. I can't imagine my life without him. But love? Love is deadly. People who love me don't have long lives unless they run away, and even then they don't escape unharmed.

Peeta has to know that he has options. He doesn't owe me from anything he felt as a kid or anything we went through together. He is free. I won't hold him back.

 _What did I do?_

The bed shifts slightly behind me, and I hold my breath hoping Peeta won't wake up until I can get away to the woods. I need to clear my head and think this through, and I do not want to face the awkwardness that is sure to follow last night's emotional outburst.

I feel a hand slide down the remains of yesterday's braid, gently stroking from the top to the elastic on the bottom.

"Don't run," says Peeta in a rough, sleepy voice.

He knows me too well. My head drops lower and the bed shifts behind me again as Peeta sits up. He puts his hands on my shoulders and draws my back into his broad chest. I let him direct me and rest my head on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around me and I run my hands up and down his forearms, watching the way the sun makes the little hairs on his arms look like threads of gold.

"I'm not afraid of you," Peeta says quietly in my ear before planting a kiss on the top of my head.

Tears pool in my eyes and I try to blink them back.

"You should be," I reply. "There is a lot of blood on my hands and the only ones who survive their connection to me are the ones that run away."

"Do you really think that?" he asks. "Do you really believe that you are some kind of bad luck charm? That the people we've lost were because of you? Snow killed them. The Capital killed them. The Capital made your father work in unsafe mines. The Capital made children fight and die in the Hunger Games. The Capital created the mutts that killed Finnick. The Capital bombed the children and killed Prim."

"No," I interrupt. "Thirteen killed Prim. Coin planned it. Using a bomb that Gale designed, Coin attacked the Capital children with a hovercraft bearing the symbol of the Capital. In one move she killed my sister and a whole bunch of innocent children, destroyed what was left of my friendship with Gale, burned me beyond recognition, and ended the war, putting herself in power."

Peeta is speechless for a minute and I wonder if he's even breathing.

"Katniss," he exhales "That's why you killed her."

It's not a question, but I explain anyway.

"Snow was sick. He was going to die without the crazy treatments the Capital was giving him to keep him alive. And the crowd would never let him leave the arena alive. So I knew that I had to use my one arrow to take out the bigger threat. I knew no one would understand, so I planned to let that arrow fly and take the nightlock pill. No more Snow, no more Coin, no more Mockingjay."

"I don't care about the Mockingjay," Peeta says, stroking my hair, "but I couldn't let there be no more Katniss."

I feel a lump rise in my throat as Peeta continues.

"Katniss, I meant what I said last night - I love you. And I meant what I said this morning – I'm not afraid to be with you. You lost a lot of people you love, but you can't avoid love to avoid pain. You wouldn't give up the years you had with Prim to avoid the pain of grieving her, right?"

I shake my head vigorously. I would not give up a single second I had with Prim, not even the time we spent arguing when we were little kids.

"There are no promises in life, Katniss. We might have only days together, or we might have years. But I don't want to miss out on the good stuff just to avoid the chance that it might hurt some day. You can't avoid pain without missing out on everything that makes life worth living."

I may never understand how Peeta does it, how he takes apart the arguments I can't even put into words. He sees right through the darkness of my fears with a little light of truth, and he makes me see it too. I turn my face toward his so my forehead rests in the crook of his neck, and I pull his arms tighter around me. We sigh in unison and I smile.

"Katniss?" Peeta begins, his voice thick with emotion. "No cameras, no games, no capital, no audience, no pressure. Just you and me. I love you. Will you be my girlfriend?"

Inside I feel that exact second when the rising sun breaks free of the horizon. My world is suddenly filled with incredible light.

Hope.

The gift Peeta has always brought into my life. Hope that tomorrow is possible. That it might be better than yesterday. That it will be worth the fight. I shift in his arms so I can look him in the eye.

"I love you, Peeta," I say. And then I watch the sunrise of love and hope dawn on his face before we kiss.


End file.
